The first week of January is by a certain sect set apart as a week of prayer. It is a custom of more than a half century’s age, and it seems that “gracious answers have been received in proportion to the earnestness and unanimity of the petitions.” That is to say, in this world’s speech, the more Christians that have prayed and the more they have meant it, the better the result is known to have been. I don’t believe all that. I don’t believe that when God is asked to do something that he had not intended to do he counts noses before making up his mind whether to do it or not. God probably knows the character of his work, and knowing that he has made this a world of knaves and dunces, he must know that the more of them that ask for something, and the more earnestly they ask, the stronger is the presumption that they ought not to have it. And I think God is perhaps less concerned about his popularity than some good folk seem to suppose. Doubtless there are errors in the record of results—some things set down as “answers” to prayer, which came about through the orderly operation of natural laws and would have occurred anyhow. I am told that similar errors have been made, or are believed to have been made, in the past. In 1730, for example, a good Bishop at Auvergne prayed for an eclipse of the sun as a warning to unbelievers. The eclipse ensued and the pious prelate made the most of it; but when it was shown that the astronomers of the period had foretold it he suffered irreverent gibes. A monk of Treves prayed that an enemy of the church, then in Paris, might lose his head, and it fell off; but it transpired that, unknown (or known) to the monk, the man was under sentence of decapitation when the prayer was made. This is related by one who piously explains, however, that but for the prayer the sentence might have been commuted to service in the galleys. I have myself known a minister to pray for rain, and the rain came. I fear he knew that the weather bureau had predicted a fair day.